


Be There For You Still

by glittergrenade



Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Fantastic Four (Comicverse), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Recovery, non-graphic depictions of gore, vague mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 01:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17673713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittergrenade/pseuds/glittergrenade
Summary: Daken is fresh out of options... he needs to call Johnny Storm for help.





	Be There For You Still

**Author's Note:**

> So, I technically wrote this forever ago. Nine odd months ago, or something? Back at Daken's whole Iceman & All-New Wolverine stuff. So that's the background haha, the Fantastic Four aren't back yet. I hope it's fun anyway :3

As he lay there, panting, on his back, in pools of blood and cum, surrounded by the corpses of senators and assassins in varying states of undress, one thought was running tiredly through Daken's head.

_I have serious issues._

In his defense, it was impossible not to, when you were the abandoned biracial son of a cold-hearted half-man with a genetic thirst for blood, nursed by people who hated you, and raised by an immortal psychopath with an unhealthy obsession with your father who manipulated you all your life into a monster.

He was laying here, his sea gray eyes dancing across the ceiling, and despite all appearances of joy in this room, his heart weighed completely unsatisfied, in a way which had nothing to do with how unsettlingly much of this blood was his. He flinched tiredly; his healing factor was really not as good as it used to be. His fist balled slightly, as he tried to push himself up, his brain slipping back to planning mode. Everything that had happened today… all his decisions… had been a futile endeavor. It had been a big fucking mistake.

He was dizzy, and couldn't get up. It sucked, healing so slowly. His wound kept opening back up every time he moved. But he couldn't stay here, he couldn't fight again. He rolled into his stomach, buried his claws in the ground, and began to drag himself along the floor. It hurt — the friction and the ache and the spurting artery — he struggled to breathe, but he had been been trained hard and long when he was young to be able to withstand pain. It hurt like the devil, more than an ordinary person would withstand, but it didn't stop him. What might stop him, however, was the dizziness. What would stop him was if he were to actually pass out.

He stopped, struggling for air (something was with one of his lungs), his brain running towards logistics. This faintness wouldn't do. He had no time to let his wound heal, no supplies to patch himself up. He was doomed. He needed help or he would die. But he couldn't ask someone for help in this situation. Oh god. Shaking, he retrieved his phone from the back pocket of his torn up jeggings. Wiping blood from his finger in his hair, he pushed the home button. Oh god. He was going to die. And maybe that would be okay. All this drama he called a life would finally be over.

Except he couldn't, as his eyes glazed over the contact called 'lil sis,' and 'lil-er sis' beneath it. Laura would be miserable. Gabby would be inconsolable. He never would know why those girls cared for him. But he felt the same way. Which was exactly why he couldn't call them. His brow furrowed in stress, shuddering violently, and he realized he needed to keep his body from going into shock. He couldn't call them, though. Gabby would never look at him with those big adoring eyes again, if she saw this. He knew she could handle the blood and gore, but his surroundings were rated at least NC-17 for gratuitous sex. And Laura, well, she wasn't exactly judgmental, but her eyes would be disappointed but resigned, and she'd have far more questions than he'd ever feel comfortable answering about what exactly he'd been up to.

There were other people, though the prospect of death was looking better and better to him. He'd been there before, so he needn't be afraid. But his sisters… dammit, that wouldn't do for them, either. He scrolled through the contacts… 'daddy's second-worst enemy' caught his eye, and it gave him a full glimmer of hope. Creed would never let him hear the end of this, but that was the price; he'd lend a hand if he needed it. Daken almost tapped his finger, and again harder as the drying blood continued to mess with his touchscreen. Then he remembered there was no fucking way that Creed was anywhere in the vicinity to reach him in time. He needed someone in New York, duh. That shouldn't exactly be limiting, but here he was.

He was totally going to die. There was Lester, who might just come by just to watch him die if he had nothing else going on tonight. He'd be fun, but not helpful. Oh, he had Iceman's number in here, wonderful. More non-options. He hoped Gabby would forgive him. But then… of course! He pushed a contact and lifted the phone to his ear, closing his drooping eyelids to the pleasant ringtone before it picked up. "Hello?" The voice of Johnny Storm, clear as day, was tired. Uninterested. He wouldn't recognize this number, of course, since this was a new phone (Daken _really_ went through phones).

"Hey, babe…"

"Daken!" Johnny's voice was on edge, not friendly, but it was heartwarming that he still recognized his voice from a mere two syllables, after all this time.

"Hey… how's it going?" Daken knew his voice sounded strained. He also knew he should probably jump straight to the point of figuring out if Johnny was interested in saving his ass, seeing as how his time was quickly running out until mercenary reinforcements arrived.

"Are you okay?" Johnny couldn't help itself, it seemed. A hint of worry was undeniable just beneath the surface over the phone.

"No… not really. I know you still hate me, but… that makes you the perfect candidate to save my life. I trust you, and you don't have any moral expectations of me left to fail. You interested?" He made sure to sound detached; yet kind of like a broker offering a sweet business deal. He wasn't sure how successful he was, given that he was struggling to hold onto consciousness.

"Shut up, Daken, I don't hate you! I can't trust you anymore necessarily, but I'll never hate you. Just know, if this is a trap, I've been harboring a lot of anger lately and fire is _hot_. Now give me your address."

Shutting his eyes again in relief, Daken gave the street address as he was told. "Be a doll and don't doddle. More unsavory people are also on their way."

"I'd never doubt it." _Beep._ Johnny had hung up. Of course. Now, all Daken had to do was wait. He decided to keep trying to pull his body along. Better to be closer to the entrance so Johnny wouldn't have trouble finding him. It wasn't as if the agonizing pain of a torn abdomen sliding against a marble floor was a bad thing, right? He felt like he was in a trance, though, like he was back in LA and high as a kite. Only without all the energy. At least he had _some_ healing factor.

"Daken? Daken!"

It was Johnny's voice, and he didn't know how long it had been since the phone call. He tried to yell out for him, but every bolt in his body tried to shut that down. It was as if he was glued to the floor by blood and gravity, and he was _so tired_.

"Damn you, Daken." There were arms around him now, very warm but gentle arms. "It's okay. You'll be okay. Breathe. I've got you. Keep breathing." He felt his head lull, but was aware of being lifted up. He coughed weakly. Blurred colors were in his vision.

"Johnny…"

"Don't talk. Just breathe. You're loosing a lot of blood."

"No, Johnny, I'm sorry… for everything." He didn't know why he was saying it. He just knew he _had_ to make sure Johnny knew.

"Forgive and forget, Daken. You weren't the one who killed my family in the end, so… it's okay."

"…your family?" his voice was hoarse. Confused. Somebody else had succeeded in dissolving Reed's freaky bod where he had failed. "I'm sorry."

"Shh. Just breathe."

There was wind in his hair. The arms that held him were very warm. Blazing hot, even. It made him feel secure. Safe, even. But maybe that was the delirium.

He woke up to a dull pain that made him not want to move his body. How much time had passed since he'd been found? His torso screamed at him. But he was in a bed. And someone was pacing back and forth beside him. "Johnny," he croaked, and his voice sounded pathetic to his own ears.

Johnny stopped in his tracks, before racing over to kneel on he side of the bed. "Morning, sunshine."

A vague smile came to Daken's lips. Johnny looked… good. Classic blonde hair, just the right ratio of messy-to-neat. Civvies, which for some unknown reason involved a polo shirt. Cheeks flushed, in a sign of health or of worry. That handsome, handsome physique. Those startlingly blue irises that did their damnedest to peer into his soul. Yes, Johnny looked good — but not great. Something told Daken he had probably interrupted something with his emergency phone call. He wanted to reach out to cup Johnny's cheek, but he couldn't — with a sigh he realized he was cuffed to the bed.

"Kinky," he mumbled with a hint of humor.

"I'm sorry," Johnny did look it. "You have to understand, last time I saw you—"

"It was good to see you." Daken's voice was soft when he interrupted, but Johnny ceded to his lead. That may or may not be good, because Daken had no clue what he was about to say right now, even as the words formed on his tongue. "I was just being too selfish to admit it. I'm not good at dying when I still have things to do. I wanted to take down all the superheroes in New York with me. None of that excuses the words I said to you and your family, out of jealousy and spite. I… I did care for you. I never just wanted to use you — okay, that's not accurate, but I cared for you more." _I was overemotional. I loved you, but I wished I didn't. I had mourned your death. The drugs messed with my head. I hated you all for having one another. I hated you for being a family. I hated you for being unable to save me. I didn't mean what I said when I was monologuing like a supervillain._ Boy, he was such a sap right now. He wasn't used to being so honest, even with himself.

"It's okay." Johnny was shockingly trusting, a wry expression on his face. "I know you didn't mean it. I… I hoped." Daken was hit with mixed feelings as Johnny's eyes darted away as if ashamed. He remembered very well how cruelly specific he had been. _Real people stay dead when they die, Johnny, you standing here is simply… an insult._ Was this what being a superhero was supposed to be about — forgiveness? _How?_ "Daken, you still mean the world to me. You said something along those lines when you were delirious, too, so I believe you. I've learned more about you, man, I know the types of things you've responsible for, beyond whatever you or Logan told us. Daken… who killed all those people where I found you? Because I know my powers symbolically purify and all, but it was honestly the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

"This was a fair fight, just now," Daken choked, wondering to what degree Johnny was kidding. Not entirely true; a room of glorified flunkies against one _Daken_ was hardly fair for the opponents. Still, it had been oh-so-pleasurable for all involved… (up until it wasn't.). "Tell me what you're trying to say." He wasn't sure what information Johnny had dug up. What dark knowledge could be found that the Fantastic Four didn't already know? Daken wasn't the most public of figures, particularly when he'd been under the hand of Romulus, yet he supposed he wasn't particularly good with masking his identity either. Whatever had been found, there was little chance that it was anything good.

Johnny sighed, then reached out and, miraculously, unlocked the cuffs. "I'm trying to say nothing. You hurt me a lot when you betrayed us. But you were hurting too, and _I_ can't say how bad. I love you, man. We're family. _Me_ and _you_. Okay? You don't have to tell me anything. I'm just glad you called. I had to cauterize that blood fountain in your thigh, hope you don't mind."

Yeah, burnt. That felt about right. But it would heal. He tried to lighten the conversation, pulling the smexy eyes he did so well. "I can't thank you enough, babe. You saved my life. C'mere, maybe I can offer some type of repayment."

"Daken, I don't know what your problem is, but no sexual favors until you're healed enough for me to get you down on your knees without straining your belly, okay?" Johnny shook his head fondly.

"Yessir." Daken winked; then gasped as if he'd jolted his head too hard. Yes, his lung had been punctured. Fortunately that was healing on its own with the rest of his body. Silently he noted that Johnny still hadn't commented on what must seem to him like a continuation of Heat's healing-negating effects. He wouldn't know about that Weapon X stuff. "Where am I, anyway?" The room was dingy. It wasn't the Baxter Building or a hotel by the slacked organization of it or any place he recognized.

"My apartment," Johnny explained plaintively, helping Daken up gingerly to sit up against his pillows. "It's a mess, I know. My Avengers branch went defunct and my life sucks."

"That's unfortunate," was Daken's sympathy. "If I could assist in any way…"

"Nah." Johnny's laugh was coolly harsh, but he didn't take it personally. "I mean, appreciated, but you'd have to be a reality warper or something." His gaze softened, as they found their eyes meeting and something inside them connected. "I really missed you, Daken."

"I missed you too, beautiful," Daken's voice was barely above a whisper, but it felt like sincerity had never run within him clearer. A moment passed, them just staring between one another like schoolboys soon momentarily overtaken by contagious grins.

"So what's next in the cards for you, man?" Presently Johnny tossed his cut hair to one side with a snort as if just now struck by something ironic. He shook his head in detachment. "I don't mean what you're planning, I'm not interested in schemes. But are you gearing up to head back out, soon as you're able to walk, disappear again into the wind?"

"Why?" Daken pouted, unsure whether he liked Johnny's new dismissive attitude, and doubly unsure what he felt about this odd version of moral superiority. "Is that what you want me to do?" Of course it was. No one wanted Daken to stay for long, not once his aura of captivating charm and beguiling pheromones was all stripped away. Romulus was the only exception to that rule: and what did that say about Daken that only a twisted, disturbed, hateful monster, who had hurt him almost every day of his life, could show love to a _thing_ like him?

Johnny mimicked the pout, as if the look was something endearing. "I didn't say that. But you can't tell me, especially after Osborn fell, that you ever hung around for long."

Daken faced him evenly, a trace of amusement twitching at the corners of his lips. He'd been so filled with ambition, determined to escape from under the shadow of his father _(s)_ in those days. As Johnny continued to look at him now with those inquisitive, almost pleading, eyes, his heart sank. He shrugged ( _ouch_ ), trying to seem casually cheerful. "I can be off your hands later tonight. There's a few leads I need to check up on before the bodies grow cold."

"Tonight? Are you crazy?" Even though he basically had to get up again to do so, Johnny raced to the opposite side of the bed, as if afraid Daken would collapse into dust any second. "You almost _died_ ," Johnny paused, his eyes large and intense enough to recall memories of that similar instance — _when I thought you had died… I was sorry… more sorry than you know… I felt terrible I wasn't there for you_ — it seemed forever ago now; this heavy ache in his heart flummoxed him. "Besides," Johnny gave a look of nearly artificial hope crossed with smug confidence, "whatever mission you're on, you clearly weren't doing so well on your own. What type of leads we talking? I'm down for a superhero team up, if you are."

He almost snickered at the word superhero, although with effort (this was _fucking important_ ) he was able to contain it. It was a little surprising, besides: given the bull Johnny had literally just said about not being interested in schemes. Was he trying to babysit him? "I thought you found out more about me since we last met?"

"I'm… I didn't mean you're evil." He looked subdued. Guilty, even. That wasn't right. "I know I'm blessed to have had my sister, and Reed, and Ben, and the kids. You just didn't have the same, right?" He lowered his head in his hands. Maybe he was regretting bringing up the spirit of _Logan_. "God. Can we start over? I… we're friends, right? Tell me you meant it when we were friends."

"I meant it," Daken obliged plainly without effort; positive that if there was still doubt, this should not help at all when referenced next to past events. Many of the things he'd said that day _were_ doped up philosophies wrung out by the drug and despair. Many had been boiling in his heart for a long time. But even if he didn't know how to partake in genuine friendship, he'd always wanted that, with Johnny.

"You're being dour, but I know you did." Johnny's blind optimism was a enigma; Daken knew the man wasn't that naïve. He _had_ felt things for Johnny once, a _lot_ of things… "I just… are you feeling better? Not from this," he gestured grandly at Daken's body in a way that was easily insulting, "but psychologically, from your nihilistic perspectives. Also the drugs," he didn't leave that out. His gaze was steady, warily interested in the response.

"Nihilistic _what?_ " Daken echoed, unsure whether to laugh or to vomit.

" _Daken_ ," the look Johnny gave was the one just asking to be punched, or kissed, or both messily at once. "I've thought events over… so many times in my head, when you were gone. _More_ than thought. I used to think I knew you so well. And hey, I say I still do. Do you know what I think now?"

"Please enlighten me," Daken humored, as humorlessly as he possibly could. Where the heck was this going?

"I was terrified of losing you, that's what I think, and it lead to a lot of fucked up thoughts, too. There are a ton of ways to loose someone you care for, Daken. I'm sure you can imagine. But the only way to really combat that is to jump right in and not loose another second because this may _not_ be _obvious_ to you since you've got _skin_ like a _vintage deluxe china doll_ , but life is precious. So rest up right now, alright? I'll be right here."

Daken gave a shadow of a nod. He sat against the pillows, his each blink intentional, in silence, and wonder. Even for Johnny, that had been… well… Daken felt rooted to his place. Sure, on the outside the brief monologue had been vague and slightly grandiose. Perhaps Johnny did not have the same aversion to admitting some sort of emotional dependency, but he had shared a piece of himself. _There are a ton of ways to loose someone you care for._ What precisely were these fucked up thoughts down which Johnny had been lead? The surface of how Daken had betrayed his family couldn't approach the entirety of it. The throbbing vein in the blonde man's temple told him as much. Johnny _had_ lost Daken too, in the end, he mustn't forget; even if the target of his hate had been Logan, the attack on New York had been a kamikaze for the twenty-first century.

"Thank you, Johnny. I'll… try not to get lost in revenge." Daken spoke, after a well-felt silence. His heart pounded in the void, and his ribs actually ached; though that was possibly more from the wounds than from his psyche. He didn't know what to say, let alone what to feel. He had done everything that was unnecessary to hurt this man… and he still didn't break.

Johnny gave him a smile as if to say, _just know that I love you_ , that was so gentle and pure that it might as well have washed his pain all away. He flexed his thumbs together, as if neither of them had ever done anything in this world with weight or baggage to harm anyone. "Careful moving your back, by the way. The gouging action is mostly confined to your abs, but it looks like you met serious trouble in those halls where I found you. Oh, I can't wait for you to see Ben, if you're up to it, he's been pretty down himself lately. We all know his grudges are tough as his rocks but even he felt torn up about you." He leaned down, and planted a chaste kiss on Daken's lips, as if the very mention of Ben demanded the need to set in stone who belonged with who. Daken smirked at that.

"Maybe he'll be into our superhero team-up, as well."

Johnny awkwardly guffawed. "Psh, I need you to myself for a bit too, right?" he flushed. Yes, that was certainly the idea. "Before the bodies get cold, am I right?"

"Aw," Oh, the adorable effort. "You've got what his stoniness only dreams of." Daken knew he was being mean to Ben, but he didn't care. He wasn't sure there was any way in hell that he would actually be prepared for a superhero team up on his current endeavor. He knew the Fantastic Four, or those of them that survived, would not approve of his methods, scratch that, his _actual basic mission statement_.

Johnny's smile faded and developed into something more serious. "Keep in touch more, okay? I don't want the next time I hear from you to be when you're dying again."

Daken gave a small smile. _Johnny knew._ He knew his offer of help was appreciated, just as he knew neither of them might feel remotely comfortable if it was actually given. He was a superhero to the core, but he wasn't safe like one. He knew. He wasn't judgmental. He had feelings, sensitive ones, but those helped the way he genuinely cared for Daken, they didn't hinder it. He knew that Daken couldn't be fixed, or changed. He knew who he was. That was rare.

Meeting Johnny's warm, genuine eyes, he gave a slight nod, and an air of peace spread forth from it between them.

"It won't be, Johnny. I promise," he said.


End file.
